


The Guardians of St Zita

by lukeloops



Series: The Book Of Guardians [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lizzie is a BAMF, cw suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-01 19:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5218616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukeloops/pseuds/lukeloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being exposed to the flames of Sebastian's true power, Ciel's soul becomes fragmented and lost in Purgatory; the no-man's land that is out of bounds to demons, and so out of reach of his faithful butler. Luckily, he has one hell of a fiancee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The two chambers are connected by an ominous mahogany door, which is locked when Ciel first moves in to one of the master bedrooms- the second, on the other side of that door, is currently empty, but soon to be occupied by Elizabeth Phantomhive.  
It doesn’t seem right somehow, sleeping in the suite that would have been his parents’. Of course, the manor has been burnt to the ground and rebuilt since, but this is still where the husband and wife of the house sleep. The father and mother.

The wedding approaches rapidly, yet time seems to have slowed down. The weeks stretch away into nothing, until suddenly it’s a matter of hours away, and for the first time in a long while, Ciel is scared.

He doesn’t call for him, has no need to, yet Sebastian knocks about half an hour after Ciel retires. The young Earl is standing at the window, watching the rain blatter against the glass.  
“It is late,” the butler says softly as he enters the room. “You should be resting, Master.”

“I know.” Ciel turns with a slight shiver from the window and perches on the edge of the bed.

“Shall I bring some camomile tea?” Sebastian asks. The boy only shakes his head in response, still staring as though seeing something far away.  
Sebastian does something that he’s never done in his four years of service; he sits down next to his Master, saying quietly as he does so, “You don’t have to go through with it you know.”  
At Ciel’s confused expression, he adds, “Although it would be ungentlemanly to back out at such a late stage, and deprive Lady Elizabeth of her special day.”

Ciel resumes his vacant staring, facing away from the demon. “I promised- or rather, my Father promised- that I would marry Lizzie once she turned sixteen. To have refused now would have caused a hell of a lot of arguments. Not to mention rumours.”

“Ah.” Sebastian nods in understanding. “Undoubtedly, your refusal would ruin Lady Elizabeth’s reputation, so it is most noble of you to proceed. In which case, are you still set against the honeymoon? It’s not too late to make arrangements-“

He’s smirking a little, but Ciel ignores it, casting his glance to the mahogany door, on the other side of which now sleeps the excited bride. “I don’t think Lizzie will really want to be alone with me, do you? Not with all this blood on my hands.”

“It is not a matter with which I am personally familiar my Lord, but I believe that trust is the key to a satisfying marriage.”  
There is no reply, so after two minutes or so, Sebastian stands and bows to his charge. He then produces a key from his breast pocket, crosses to the separating door, and unlocks it before pocketing the key again.  
“Good night, young Master.” With that he is gone.

Waiting in vain for sleep to claim him, Ciel finds his gaze pulled to the now unlocked door.  He has neither notion of nor interest in love; he has come to accept that he cares for Lizzie, and so he will do his duty to her, that is all. But nobody has taught him what the duties of a husband entail.

_I believe that trust is the key._

  
Finally, Ciel shrugs off the comforter and his bare feet land on the varnished wood floor, pad-pad over to the separating door that simultaneously leers and beckons. There is more than one meaning to the phrase ‘cold feet.’  
Should he knock? He’s going to wake her up anyway. He taps his knuckles against the intricately engraved mahogany before turning the handle and pushing open the door, which creaks loudly.  
In the darkness, he sees Lizzie sit upright with a start. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me.” He says softly.

“Ciel?” She squints at him, pulling the covers up to her chest. “We’re not wed yet! What are you…”

“You don’t need to be scared.” He sits down on the edge of the bed, the way Sebastian did not long ago. “I’m sorry for waking you, and I’m not going to lay my hands on you. I just… need to talk to you.”

Lizzie leans forward to place a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong Ciel?” she asks in a whisper.

He takes a deep, slow breath before answering. “Lizzie, I want to do right by you. So tomorrow, after it’s over and done with, I will stop hiding the truth from you. My world is a dark one. I’ve witnessed such bad things, endured them, and inflicted them. And… I don’t want you to think ill of me.”

“Look at me.”  
Ciel turns his head to meet Lizzie’s wide, innocent eyes. She shifts over, beckoning for him to join her in the bed. When he tentatively lies down, she settles the covers around the both of them, and takes his hand in hers, her other going to his forehead.  
“I could never think ill of you,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back. Her soft touch lingers near his eyepatch but she knows better than to remove it. “As long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be by your side. There’s nothing else that can happen to change that.”

“Not even a contract with a creature from Hell?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Ciel shifts closer to her, trailing his own fingers over her golden locks. Sleep seemed to have been waiting for him all along on the other side of the door.  
Lizzie watches his eye close, and both her own do the same. She knows she should make him leave, but she doesn’t want to. And she wants to ask him questions, but it can wait until after the wedding. Tomorrow isn’t far away, after all. Everything will work out then.

Except when morning comes, Ciel is nowhere to be found.


	2. His Butler, Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An altercation with two angels doesn't go as expected. Not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this! It was a nice little challenge for me, as I'm not used to writing action scenes.

Sebastian is annoyed. All night he’s been polishing silverware and ironing napkins, so that the table for the wedding breakfast is set to absolute perfection. And now there is an angel feather lying obnoxiously in the middle of the table.  
There is no time for this; whatever the creature wants, there will no doubt be a fight, and cleaning up afterwards will be a difficult feat. After all the effort he’s put into this day, too.

It’s two hours before sunrise. There’s only the flowers left to sort out, so Sebastian heads into the garden with his basket and clippers- and spots a second white feather on the doorstep. The stench tells him that this time, the angel is close by.  
Sebastian clears his throat. “It’s rude to enter without invitation, especially at this hour.” He announces to the air. A rustle of wings overhead, and then two angels stand before him, staring coldly.

“It is not you with whom we are concerned, demon.” Says one of them. “We have business with the human Ciel Phantomhive.”

“Ah, well-“ Sebastian consults his pocket-watch- “My young Master won’t be woken for another hour. But you can address any concerns to me. I am his butler, after all.”

The second angel takes a step back as though disgusted and crosses their arms. “Our concern is that we have been entrusted for over a century now to guard the Church of Saint Zita. A human who bears the mark of a demon must not defile our beloved Church by asking for God’s blessing there; not only is it sacrilegious, it is downright _distasteful._ ”

Sebastian sighs dramatically, a gloved hand going to his forehead. “Indeed it would have been less trouble to have a home ceremony, but the Lady Elizabeth’s family are a sticklers for tradition, and the Midfords have always married at Saint Zita’s. I suppose I can make some adjustments, if you’ll kindly clear off and let me see to my preparations…”

“Not good enough.” Interrupts the first angel in an icy voice. “The human must be taught a lesson.” The two of them take off with impossible speed.

Sebastian sighs again, shaking the dinner knives out of his sleeves and into his hands. “Trouble again, always trouble. Can’t we just enjoy the celebrations?”  
With a single leap he is perched on the rooftop, ready to intercept the angels without waking the household. Such a shame that they couldn’t have done this yesterday. His scarlet eyes fall upon the intruders, with Ciel now gripped tightly between them, unfurling their wings on the balcony outside the master suite in preparation for flight.   
He meets them mid-air, executing a perfect bow despite being halfway through his jump. “What are my orders Master?”

Sandwiched between the two angels, Ciel looks thoroughly bored with the whole thing. “I don’t want today to be sullied by murders.”

“With respect my Lord, this is more of a case of pest control.” He throws his knives with his usual perfection, pinning a blade into each wing. The angels dart sideways and Ciel begins to fall, but before Sebastian can seize him, they have recovered and are binding the boy in silvery threads that seem to grow seamlessly out of their own hands.

Sebastian is thinking on his feet. Taking on two angels is no easy feat, and Ciel’s safety is his priority as always.   
“Forgive me Master.” He calls. “I must take on a rather unsightly form for this.”  
With that, his human exterior melts away, allowing the real extent of his power to unravel, rather like taking a delicate ring off a tightly bound napkin.

The angels are fast, faster than him, but his aura is hot enough to burn through the restraints that secure Ciel- the human will suffer damage too, but that can’t be helped. Piercing screams tell him that the angels are hurt, as does the smell of burning- but there is another scent now clouding his senses.  
Ciel’s soul.

An ordinary angel doesn’t have the power to extract a soul, not without a death scythe. Yet there it is, blue light rising visibly from Ciel’s open mouth as he hangs in the air, like smoke from a fire. Sebastian stares, transfixed, feeling hunger course through him. No, not hunger-  
  _starvation.  
_

Then he hears his name being called by that unmistakable voice and he is pulled, forcefully, back to his senses, to the sight of the angels disappearing with the bodiless soul cradled between their singed hands.

Sebastian resumes his human form just in time to catch Ciel’s body before it hits the ground. He isn’t dead, but he is empty.  
“I am sorry young Master,” he murmurs. “I was unable to stop them. But what has been taken from you shall be returned to you.”

 -

Lizzie keeps a forced calm on her features and in her voice as it becomes clear that the bridegroom is missing without a trace. She lets them panic, apologize to her, do whatever. She will not show weakness.  
She waits until nightfall, when the last of the speculating guests has taken their leave and the manor is quiet, before allowing a few tears of frustration to slip down her cheeks. Quickly this turns into a flood, of panic, desperation. _No_ , she shouts to her reflection in the mirror. This is not the way to behave.

“Sebastian?” she calls quietly into the darkness. She doesn’t really expect him to come, but he does, immediately.

“My Lady.” He bows low.

“Where is he?” she demands. “I haven't seen you since this morning, so I know you’re part of all this.”

The butler sets down the candelabra he is holding and reaches for Lizzie’s dressing gown, draping it over her. “Please believe me Lady Elizabeth, there are certain events that have occurred, the nature of which would be cruel to explain to you.”

“I don’t care.” She wipes the last of the tears away with her sleeve. “Ciel promised not to hide anything from me. So I want you to tell me the truth. Everything.”

“Very well.” Sebastian picks up the candelabra again and extends his other hand to her. “Come with me.”

 -

“So you’re a demon.” Lizzie speaks slowly, staring at Ciel’s lifeless face. He is hidden in Sebastian’s room, skin as pale as the sheets and not moving, not even a flutter of his eyelids, although he is breathing. “And Ciel is your master. But his soul has been damaged.”

“That is correct.” Sebastian stands by the door, allowing them space as she begins to fuss with Ciel’s hair, smoothing the pillow. “There is a chance that contact with my raw power could have changed him in some way. Perhaps even transferred some of that power. But I cannot find him.”

“So you’ve no idea where he is?”

“That is not strictly true. As a demon, whilst I may traverse freely between the human world and Hell, I cannot enter Purgatory. Only those with Reaper powers can do that, and presumably that includes the angels I encountered. In which case,-“

“He’s there.” Lizzie murmurs, now tucking the bedsheets tighter around her lifeless fiancée. She is quiet for a minute, before turning to Sebastian. “You agreed to tell me everything. Can a human enter Purgatory without being taken by an angel or a… reaper?”

“Only by their death.” The demon takes a few steps forward to join her next to the bed. They both look down at Ciel. “Certain souls can be reincarnated. But I have spoken of enough horrors for one night, Lady Elizabeth. Please allow me to escort you back to your chamber. It is cold.”

Lizzie follows him in silence, her mind whirring. If Sebastian really is a creature from hell, then there’s no reason to trust the things he says- apart from the fact that Ciel trusts him, and Lizzie trusts Ciel. And if the demon can’t protect her beloved, then it’s down to her.

How does one dress for the afterlife? Figuring that practicality must take precedence over aesthetic, she tries on some trousers from Ciel’s wardrobe. Then, in her own room, she opens the chest that houses her weapons. She selects two long, thin swords and straps them to each hip, also stowing a pocket-knife into the belt. This is all based on speculation of course- but whatever the circumstances, it can never hurt to be armed, right?  
The last item she takes from the chest is a small wooden box, in which nestle a selection of tiny glass bottles. Her family’s secret traceless poison blend.

This is not the way things were meant to go. They were meant to get married and live happily ever after. But she’s committed to stay by his side, and he needs her.  
“I’m coming for you, Ciel.” Lizzie closes her eyes, lies down on the bed, and fills her mouth with the poison. It burns as it trickles down her throat. “I’m coming for you.”


	3. His fiancée, aclimatizing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie wakes up outside of the world she knows, with a future no less certain.

Lizzie wakes with a start. A bright light fills her eyes as she opens them- she seems to be in some kind of waiting room, decorated completely in white. Strapped to a chair. And a bizarre-looking young man is peering at her closely.

“Ah, you’re awake.” He grins quite disarmingly, scanning her face with vivid green eyes, and then turns. “Boss!” He hollers over his shoulder, making her wince.

“There’s no need to be so loud.” Another man is now approaching, slightly older, also wearing a smart black suit and glasses. This one is carrying a thick leather-bound book, and stands before her to survey her.  
“Elizabeth Midford?”

“Yes.” She finds her voice but it’s small and hesitant. “Where am I?”

“All in good time.” He opens the book and flicks through a few pages, before handing it to the younger man, who buckles a little under the weight. “Take off your glasses Knox. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Knox is squinting. “’ow am I supposed to know?”

“And you?” The man looks at her.

“Three.” She answers, wondering what on earth is going on.

“Correct. You are definitely alive then.”

The other is replacing his glasses on his face. “See? I told ya she wasn’t meant to die.”

Lizzie blinks a few times, then recovers the demanding but aristocratic voice that she uses to get her way and asks, “Can somebody please explain what’s happening?”

The one who is evidently in charge clears his throat. “My name is William T Spears, I am head of personnel at the England branch of the Shinigami Dispatch Association. We received short-notice Special Collection orders earlier tonight for Elizabeth Midford at Phantomhive Manor, yet your death is not in the fifty-year schedule. As such you have been taken in for surveillance until it is determined whether or not you need to be removed from your life early. I apologise for any inconvenience. It would appear that somebody somewhere has been wildly incompetent.”

The other man- shinigami? is fidgeting where he stands. “Sorry boss, I know I didn’t help matters by bringing ‘er in like this. But I figured that if she was gonna die she’d have done it on the way, and I didn’t want to just kill ‘er anyway, since Special Collections didn’t specifically order me to, and Sutcliffe going AWOL means I had no backup.”

William T Spears emits a long-suffering sigh. “Sutcliffe is going to clean my office with nothing but a toothbrush when I find him. As for you Knox, congratulations on having custody of a live human. You’d best get started on the paperwork.” He turns on his heel and marches stiffly away.

“Sorry about that.” Knox closes the door behind his superior and turns back to Lizzie. “You can call me Ronald. I was sent to collect you but- like Will said- you’re not actually meant to die yet. ‘ere, I’ll untie you.”  
He bends over to undo the straps at her wrists, and then around her torso. Lizzie’s instincts kick in when his hands are near her chest and her booted foot wedges itself between his knees.  
“Ouch!” He falls backwards, landing with a bump, and then grins as he pushes his glasses back into place. “Feisty, I like that in a girl.”

Lizzie stands, flexing her stiff muscles. “Where are my weapons?” she demands.

Ronald gets to his feet too, brushing off his rather fancy suit. “Can’t have you wandering around with swords, you might be tryna’ kill us all.”

“Didn’t you just say you were going to kill me?”

“You can’t talk, you tried to kill yourself.” The young man grabs her hand and starts pulling her towards the door. “Come on, we’ll get a visitor’s badge ready, otherwise you gotta be restrained again.”

Lizzie snatches her hand back indignantly, but follows. “I wanted to die so I could get into Purgatory. I’m searching for my fiancé, Ciel Phantomhive.”

“Phantomhive, eh?” Ronald stops and squints curiously at her again. “Well that explains where Sutcliffe went. And you’re in the right place.”

 

After being questioned thoroughly by a trio of ancient reapers while Ronald scribbles furious notes with his lips pressed together, Lizzie is feeling like her mission so far is something of a failure. She promises the inquisitors that no, nothing of the afterlife is common knowledge among humanity and yes, she learned everything from a demon but no, she’s not attempting to infiltrate the Association in order to take it down and guarantee a supply of souls on which the creatures of Hell can feast.  
The three old men put their heads together and whisper for at least ten minutes before nodding, separating and looking down at her.

“Miss Midford,” one of them announces. “You have been judged as non-threatening and so you will not be incarcerated nor terminated. However, you may not return to the human world until your fate has been decided by the High Council of Shinigami. Furthermore, you are not permitted access to any death records, including your own, or to the Soul Library. Failure to comply will result in immediate termination without further trial.”  
They file out of the room, whispering to each other again.

“Can I have my swords back then?” She shouts after them.

“Your personal effects can be collected at reception.” They don’t bother to look at her.  
Lizzie looks round the room in frustration. Obviously the reapers aren’t going to help her, and she has no idea what is outside this building. Empty space maybe? Or maybe this is it, the whole of this world is just a giant office full of useless men?  
Her mother would say that there’s no point crying over spilt milk. This just reminds Lizzie that’s she hungry, but she brushes off the feeling and decides that she’s wasted enough time here. Squaring her shoulders, she strides out of the room. There is a floorplan on the wall in the corridor in between the endless eye-tests, and it doesn’t take her long to find reception.

“Elizabeth Midford.” She shows the visitor’s badge around her neck to the lady at the nearest empty window, who sports unnaturally bright ginger curls and a distasteful amount of jewelry. “I’m here to collect my possessions.”

“Sign here please.” A form is slid in front of her with one of the strange writing utensils everybody seems to have here, like a pencil but with ink inside.  She complies, and after a moment’s wait, the lady returns with her weapons.  
Ignoring the curious stares from the staff, Lizzie buckles up the belt and clips the knife back on. _Non-threatening_ , huh? There is nothing more dangerous than a woman on a mission.

Pushing through the large white double doors, she at last finds herself outside the building. There’s no room for further surprise to register in her mind, so she takes everything she sees in her stride; there are immaculate lawns before her, just like at home, but the sky is a translucent red colour without a star or cloud to be seen. At the edge of the lawn, train tracks disappear into the distance in every conceivable direction, including up into the air and down, seemingly unsupported by actual ground. Pick a direction and start looking, she supposes.

“Wait!” a voice calls. She turns. It’s Ronald. His hands are stained with ink from his writing.

“Where are you going?” he asks as he reaches her.

“I have a job to do,” she replies with a cool tone. “And obviously none of you stupid reapers are going to help me in any way, otherwise you would have just told them I’m not dangerous back there. So I’ll do it myself.”

“Don’t be silly.” The young reaper looks a little guilty. “You’re still mortal y’know. It’s a maze out there. You’ll waste away if you wander off without a clue where you’re ‘eaded.”

Indignantly, Lizzie draws herself up to her full height. “I’m not a defenseless child. Maybe I’m just a weak little human to you, but nothing’s going to stop me from finding my husband.”  
Her stomach chooses that moment to rumble very loudly.

Ronald takes hold of her elbow, gently. “It’s kinda my fault that you’re here, even though you wanted to be. Let me at least take you to my place for some dinner and rest while you figure out a plan.”

“Alright then.” She sighs, mollified slightly by his kind eyes. “But don’t touch me without my permission again, because I can and will behead you.”

 

At the edge of one of the tracks, an engineless carriage of black metal appears. No sooner have they stepped inside than the doors slam shut and they are moving at breakneck speed. Ronald grins as Lizzie leans against the wall, clutching her stomach.

“Takes a while to get used to. My first time, I threw up on my senior’s shoes. But don’t tell anyone that.”  
Soon- but not soon enough, she thinks- they shudder to a halt and the doors open. Ronald jumps out and holds out a hand to her, but she pretends not to notice.

This building is made of some dark marble, and again appears to be floating on nothing. Lizzie allows herself to be led inside and up a tight corkscrew staircase. Strange noises come from behind some of the doors they pass, ranging from howls to echoing laughter.  
“Do other species exist in this world?” she asks. It’s like hearing herself speaking an entirely foreign language.

“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t knock though, they probably have a different interpretation of making you dinner.” Ronald winks. “Here we are.”

The room Lizzie finds herself in is lit by small lights of different colours attached to strings criss-crossing the ceiling. It’s also a bit of a mess; there’s an unmade bed in one corner, what appears to be a stove, a sink and some cupboards along the opposite wall. A round table with what looks like a glass top is piled high with books, and there is a second door behind this which Lizzie hopes leads to a bathroom.

“What’s that?” She points to a picture frame with a reflective black square inside it propped against the wall, in front of two old leather armchairs.

“Oh yeah.” Ronald scratches the back of his neck. “You’re used to real-time, where technology isn’t much of a thing. Well you know about motion pictures?”

“I’ve heard talk of them, but I’m not sure if I believe they’re real.”

“They are, ‘cause in your future- well not yours personally I’m afraid- you can use one of those screens to watch ‘em at home.”

Time travel. Another thing to add to the list of impossible things that she’s witnessed since drinking that poison. “I suppose that where you get your clothes from then?”

He does a little pirouette to show off his flashy suit and shiny white shoes. “Gotta look good when you’re out soul-hunting.”  
Perhaps this is a joke, and she just doesn’t get it. Ronald peers at her. “You must be tired. Lemme rustle something up and you can get your ‘ead down.”

Lizzie perches herself on one of the stools at the table, eyeing the teetering tower of books. There are what look like reaper training textbooks among various Bronte novels, as well as titles she assumes haven’t been written in her time. It wouldn’t do any harm to understand more about this world.

“Pasta!” announces Ronald excitedly, pushing a plate of bizarre shapes in front of her. She’s suspicious at first, but it turns out to be real food, and the sauce is actually quite nice. Her manners prevent her from showing how enthusiastic she is- when she drank the poison, she hadn’t eaten all day, and she has no idea how much time has passed since then. Her companion however, has his elbows firmly on the table, and actually licks his knife at one point. She doesn’t chastise him.

“Thank you,” Lizzie says as she finishes, now dulled with the feeling of a full stomach. “I… I’m grateful for…” Her words are cut off by a yawn. Not that she really knows how to finish the sentence.

“S’cool.” Ronald starts dumping everything in the sink. He looks at her over his shoulder as she stifles another yawn. “Go on, get some shut-eye. I got paperwork.”  
Lizzie looks dubiously at the bed, which offers no privacy.  
“I won’t be creepy,” he grins.

“Alright.” Her suspicion is outweighed by the soporific effect of the meal, and she removes her shoes and weapons, placing them neatly on the floor next to the bed before climbing in. The little lights on the ceiling are pretty as she lies down- and that’s the last of her conscious thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Grell's pronouns:
> 
> I have a headcanon that female Shinigami (not just Association staff, actual reapers with scythes) are unheard of until Grell comes along, undoubtedly female; she gets misgendered as a man by the other reapers because it's simply not in their vocabulary. I've tried to cover this in a later chapter a little, but it's up to you to decide whether she's always been trans, or if she was a cis human and her Shinigami body is different.  
> When Sebastian's POV is being used, Grell is referred to as 'they', since demons don't have a concept of gender outside of their interactions with humans.


	4. His Butler, Courted

Hair. Long, bright red hair. On the spotless rug.  How very dare it.   
Angels are one thing, but reapers are an entirely different inconvenience. Especially ones with long, bright red hair.

There’s no time for this though. Sebastian buttons up his tailcoat and sets off at a run, reaching London in mere minutes. It’s past midnight now, and bitterly cold. Luckily, the Undertaker runs a round-the-clock business.

Twin curtains of silver hair part to reveal a jagged smile as the ex-shinigami’s candlelight falls upon his demon visitor. “Sebastian. What a pleasure. But at this hour? And without your little snack? I can only assume this isn’t a social call.”

If Sebastian’s skin was human, it would crawl at the drawn out _sssss_ sound peppering the grinning mortician’s words.  
“I am afraid not,” he smiles back, humourlessly. “I require information that I think you might be familiar with, being a bit of a rogue soldier yourself.”

The Undertaker chooses to let the insult slide. Instead, he perches daintily on a closed coffin and reaches for one of his bone-shaped biscuits. “You know the way it works, butler. Payment up front.”

“Very well.” Sebastian sighs. “Although you couldn’t perhaps be lenient this one time? After all, it is supposed to be my young Master’s wedding night.”

The old reaper almost chokes on his biscuit as he howls. “Oh Sebastian,” he cries, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know where you get ‘em, but by golly you’re my favourite customer!”

The demon waits patiently until the Undertaker’s laughter has died away to hiccups, tapping a finger against his cheek.  
“What is it you want to know then? Because I’ve no corpses for you to play with at this moment, not one.” The Undertaker affects an air of moroseness.

“Oh, generating corpses would be easy work right now.” Sebastian flashes one of his dangerous smiles. “But there are more pressing matters at hand. Tell me, under what circumstances other than death can the soul be separated from the corporeal form?”

“Other than death? Hmm, let’s see. Reapers have been known to taken a live’un across the Divide every now and again… But even then they take the whole lot, flesh _and_ fluids.”

“It was an Angel.” Sebastian prompts. “Two of them, to be precise.”

The Undertaker stifles a giggle. “So this is a practical application of the theory, eh? Well, it’s not unheard of for a soul to go wandering while the body slumbers, seeking forgiveness or absolution or however you like to label these matters. They call it Penitence I believe, and it’s a skill that only Angels who’ve guarded a church for a hundred and one years can practice. Most get bored after fifteen and go off to murder everything in sight.”

This makes sense. The Angels had claimed to be guardians of St Zita’s church, and that Ciel must pay. The Master must indeed be somewhere in Purgatory; probably wandering about failing to wrap his precocious little head around what he’s done wrong.

“One more question then.” Sebastian smiles again. “How does one go about recovering a soul from Penitence?

At this, the Undertaker throws his head back and loses it, his entire body shaking with the force of his laughter. “Please Sebastian,” he begs, banging his fists on the coffin lid. “No more! No more!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There’s no way to reverse the process! That’s why humans call it a coma. You never wake up, you just _die_!”

Dismembering the ugly creature is sorely tempting, but ultimately a waste of time, so Sebastian strides out of the dingy shop without saying or doing anything else- but as soon as he steps out into the street, a flurry of red paper hearts is released upon him.  
“What the- _Grell!_ ”

He can’t see the culprit, but a giggle confirms his suspicions. As does the fact that he’s being followed all the way back to the manor, not that he can bring himself to care about another unhinged reaper.

 

At the front steps he stops, sniffing the air. There is one less human in the building than when he left.  
“What now?” he growls. The Lady Elizabeth must have gone off on some foolish rescue attempt. Really, the devotion that humans form to one another is sickeningly inconvenient. Ciel’s words from long ago come back to him; _Elizabeth is a pain, but if anything happens to me before the contract is fulfilled then it’s up to you to make sure she’s safe. That’s an order._

She is indeed gone, her bed cold. Sebastian reaches out a gloved hand and picks up a small glass bottle from the pillow. Uncorked and emptied.

“Oh, so it all went according to plan? How lovely.”  
Grell Sutcliff stands on the other side of the large window, which happens to be smashed, chainsaw slung over one shoulder.

Sebastian turns to the grinning reaper, who blushes at the intensity of his stare.  
“Grell,” he demands, quietly but forcefully. “What happened here?”

Grell does a little twirl and clasps their hands together with a sigh. “Oh, it’s a beautifully tragic story, _Sebas-chan_. We got an urgent memo through from Special Collections saying that some lovesick doll was going to poison herself at midnight, right here! I was _supposed_ to be on duty, but you know I can’t resist the trail of a bad, bad man…”

Sebastian’s fingertips are drumming against his cheekbone again, tap-tap-think-think. The girl probably thought that if she died she’d conveniently wake up next to the Earl in a pretty paradise and live happily ever after. Although that doesn’t explain why her body is gone.

He forces his exterior to into cool calmness before taking a few steps closer to the reaper and makes eye contact through thick lashes. “You are right Grell, I am indeed a bad man. But what I need now is a good girl.”

Grell looks ready to pass out. “You can’t mean little old me?” they whisper, fluttering their eyelashes.

“You and only you,” Sebastian affirms in a low, breathy tone. “I need you to confirm the whereabouts of the soul you were sent here to collect tonight. And that of my Master, Ciel Phantomhive.”

“Oh really?” Grell starts playing with their hair coyly. “And what do _I_ get out of this?”

“What do you want?”

“A date!” The scarlet reaper starts jumping up and down in excitement.

Really? _This_ is the fate of a powerful demon who only came into the human world to look for something to eat? But the young Master’s life is worth everything. Anything.

“If- and only _if-_ the Earl Phantomhive returns to this world alive, then I will honour your wish.” He finishes with a bow.

Grell’s smile shows two rows of pointy teeth glistening in the moonlight before they’re off, leaving behind a cry of “Wait for me Bassy, I’ll be back!”

 What a night. Sebastian casts an eye around the room once more, picking up the shards of glass and replacing them in the window with one easy gesture, before descending down into the servants’ quarters.

Ciel, of course, lies exactly how he was an hour ago, pale, eyes closed, but warm to the touch. He could be sleeping were it not for the unnatural stillness.

“Young Master,” Sebastian murmurs, kneeling by the bed. “I’m afraid things are not going entirely smoothly. You see, a soul in Penitence is one that is doomed; there is perhaps someone who can bring you back through the Divide but by then you’ll be broken, and wholly unappetizing. However, that is the best case scenario.” He stands, pulls back the covers, slides up Ciel’s nightshirt to reveal the smattering of red marks on the boy’s skin, like scratches, but puckered and starting to blister. “The worst case scenario, my little Lord, is that your soul absorbed a piece of the energy given off by true form. Which is how, according to rumours at least, one turns a human… into a demon.”

 

-

 “Hey Grell!” 

She’s just clocking out when a shout echoes down the corridor, originating from her little two-toned dogsbody. Grell polishes her teeth with the tip of her tongue before turning round.  
“Ronnie darling!” she gushes, trying to envelope him in a hug, but he side-steps her, pulling a face.

“Whatever stunt you disappeared off to pull yesterday when we was meant to be workin’ better have gone well, ‘cause thanks to you I now have a live human asleep in my bed. And-“ he lowers his voice, glancing shiftily to either side- “She’s proper pretty, but ‘er fiancé’s got a _demon_ at ‘is beck and call.”

Grell’s smile widens. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about _that_ , considering that dear Bassie doesn’t even know himself where the brats are. Oh, this is going to so much fun!” She squeals, grabbing the perplexed Ronald with both hands and spinning the two of them around. “Take me to see your new pet!”

 


	5. His Fiancee, Networking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so it turns out I screwed up and published the chapter after this one instead of it. I'm now putting it all back into the right order. Bleh.

Lizzie’s eyes flutter open and for a moment she is confused, before the memories of the past couple of days come flooding back. She has no idea what time it is- there is no clock or calendar, and thus far the afterlife seems suspiciously devoid of windows.  
She swings her legs out of the bed and tiptoes over to a note propped against a bowl of apples on the table- _on earlies today, probs best you wait here while I try and get word on your verdict._ So she’s definitely alone. Lizzie wonders where he slept.

There is indeed some sort of washroom behind the other door, although no bath- instead there is some sort of glass booth which, when Lizzie curiously pulls the handle, starts to fill with steam while bubbly water pours from a nozzle on the ceiling. Good enough. She undresses and steps into the booth, then realizes she’s never washed her own hair before.

Once she feels like everything is clean enough, she pulls the handle again and the water stops, the steam dissipating as, to her alarm, gusts of wind begin to circulate round her, drying her off. It’s quite a convenient system actually.  
The clothes she slept in are crumpled, but Ciel doesn’t seem to mind her not looking cute. Paula once showed her how to braid hair, so she separates her waterfall of blonde waves into sections with her fingers and weaves it into two tight plaits down her back.

The books on the table are beckoning to her, so she takes _A Simpleton’s Guide To The Duties And Conducts Of A Shinigami_ and an apple and curls up in one of the armchairs.

She’s finished that, and _Thirty-seven Uses For Immortality_ , and is flicking bemusedly through _How To Teach Your Leviathan To Do Tricks_ when Ronald comes home, accompanied by a tall woman clad all in red, slightly older-looking, who immediately pulls Lizzie to her feet and exclaims, “No, this won’t do at all!”

Lizzie casts a helpless look at Ronald, who smiles. “Miss Lizzie, this is Grell Sutcliff, my senior.”

The woman Grell is looking down her nose as she prods Lizzie all over, tugging at her clothes. “If you’re going to be my sidekick then I need to get you a proper outfit.” She sighs in despair, now holding the nonplussed girl at arm’s length. “You’re supposed to be pretty- not ravishing like me of course, but still.”

“Grell was supposed to be with me when I collected you,” Ronald explains, reaching for an apple, “But went off to sniff out that demon she’s so fond of instead.”

“I wouldn’t have spared you,” sniffs Grell dismissively. “I’d have just reaped your soul then and there myself, to hell with the schedule. But then I never would have gotten to see Sebastian, and- _oh_ , it’s such a dream, our clandestine love story is finally beginning to unfold! All I have to do is locate that blasted human boy’s soul, and then I shall win Bassy’s trust!”

So this reaper has spoken to Sebastian, and is looking for Ciel as well? It definitely wouldn’t hurt to have an experienced ally. Lizzie executes a perfect curtsey.  
“Madame Grell, I would be honoured to be your… sidekick. I want nothing more than for Ciel to be safely returned to Sebastian.”

Grell blushes as red as her hair. “Oh, that’s much better!” she gushes. “Such an adorable little thing. I do love it when the young have good manners,” –here a quick dirty look is shot at Ronald before she continues, “It’s so refreshing. Well Dolly, I have to go and make some appointments, so I’ll be back for you later. Try not to die or anything in that time, it would be awful bother. Bye now!” and she is gone in a whirl of scarlet.

Well, this is a step forward, if nothing else a way of communicating with the human world.

Starting a second apple, Ronald is lounging in one armchair with his feet propped on the other. “I checked the fifty-year death schedule and Phantomhive ain’t on it either,” he tells her through a mouthful. “Which is odd ‘cause humans that make deals with demons don’t exactly get to reach old age most of the time.”

The reminder that Sebastian has been waiting to kill Ciel all this time causes a wave of nausea to push its way out of her stomach but Lizzie swallows it back down, perching herself delicately on the arm of the chair.  
“An the High Council still don’t know what to do with you, ‘Dolly’.” He leans forward to poke her in the arm. “No human’s ever come ‘ere on purpose before.”

Lizzie bites her lip, thinking about what she read earlier. She has a better understanding of her situation, but every new piece of knowledge just seems to raise more questions.  
“Why didn’t you reap me?” she asks finally, in a quiet voice. “There was no way I could have lived after I drank the poison. If I’d have just died, I could be reborn like you.”

Ronald seems unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t wanna make a decision like that without a supervisor, ‘cause you weren’t scheduled to die. It would have meant a lotta paperwork. I reckoned you’d be a gonner when we crossed the Divide anyway.”  
These reapers are sticklers for the rules. And seemingly just as obsessed with trying to break them.  
“Anyway.” Ronald pokes her again, more gently this time. “I did you a favour really. By the time you’d gotten reincarnated, it’d probably be too late for yer fiancé.”

“Oh.” Should she thank somebody who saved her life for his own benefit? This is too much of an ethical conundrum, so she asks her other burning question.  
“Can I trust Grell?”

Ronald bursts out laughing. “You threw yourself into Purgatory on a hunch that you got from what a demon told you, and then went ‘ome with a guy you’d only just met. You trust too easily Dolly.”

“Stop calling me that.” She glares at him. “I don’t trust anyone who’s not human, because you all seem to like killing.”  
Ronald is still laughing- until cold metal touches his throat. Lizzie has drawn one of her swords and is balancing its tip delicately against his neck, able to puncture through the skin with just a flick of her wrist.  
“Easy.” Ronald gulps, looking down at the blade. “Grell is a bit unhinged, and just as capable of killin’ you as me or _Bassy_. But she struck a bit of a deal with ‘im, so she’s lookin’ out for you.”

Lizzie frowns.

“And what’s so different about us anyway? You don’t seem to mind killing.”

She lowers her sword. Is a soul-harvester really making her question her morals? She’s never killed, but she’s fought without caring if her opponent lives. But only for self-preservation and that of Ciel. Anyone- or any _thing_ \- who kills could be doing it simply in order to survive.

“Give me your other sword.” Ronald is standing up and removing his blazer.

“Huh?”

“You’re a quick’un, but you could still do with a bit of practice if you wanna rescue this boy that badly. Come on.”

 

-

“Half?” Grell screeches, curling her hands into fists. “What do you mean _half?_ ”

“I mean exactly what I just said.” Will looks condescendingly over his glasses like she’s a slow child. “The Lost Souls Search Team have searched everywhere, and have found- to be exact- sixty four percent of Ciel Phantomhive’s soul. Since it was not extracted by a reaper, we have no business with its recovery.”

“How the hell did it get there then?” She leans forward over the desk, looming above Will with her most dangerous expression in place.

Will leans back to avoid her, looking down and shuffling his papers as though disinterested. “Guardians, I presume. You may meddle in the affair in your own time, if you so wish. But after your little excursion you’re on a yellow warning, so you’d be a fool to risk Association resources just for a broken human.”


	6. His Lordship, Sentenced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ciel awakes in Purgatory, and Lizzie gets some practise in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to Kimberly T for understanding the story and making me feel important by commenting ^.^

Ciel knows he’s conscious to some degree, because he can now see and hear, but he can’t feel anything at all.

“ _Ciel Phantomhive.”_ A bodiless voice is surrounding him. “ _You have been brought here to carry out Penitence as a result of your attempt to sully the Church of our beloved Saint Zita.”_

‘Here’ doesn’t seem to be anywhere except a pit with walls that tower above him, lit with a few candles placed in crevices in the dirt or rock. He can’t see the top.

“ _Despite affiliations with evil, your soul has been judged pure. As such, your sentence lasts for seven days and nights, before you will be returned to your body with no further action.”_

What? He tries to get to his feet, but doesn’t seem to be able to move, so he focuses his blurred vision down instead- and there is nothing. Just the dusty ground. He has no physical form.  
“What’s happening?” He wants to shout, but has no lungs or mouth with which to yell. However, Ciel hears his own voice rise above him, just as detached and distant as the one that woke him.

There comes no answer.

He wishes for his fists back so he can punch something in frustration. The last thing he remembers is two Angels pulling him out of bed and trying to fly away with him, and Sebastian trying to stop them- Sebastian in his true form, too grotesque and existing in too many dimensions for Ciel to be able to recall. And pain. Sudden, boiling pain.  
Once he thinks about escaping, he finds himself able to rise upwards; with no way of telling his speed or how much time is passing, he doesn’t know how far down the pit goes, but he passes at least a thousand candles before breaking the surface.

Wherever he is can’t be anywhere on Earth; the starless sky is the colour of blood over a blank horizon. Beneath where his feet should be, the dirt is black like coal dust, and seems to be rippling as though not entirely solid. Apart from the entrance to the pit, he can only see one thing- a path, made of glowing blue light rather than bricks or gravel, and stretching into the distance for as far as is visible. Curiously, he guides himself onto it and regains some of the sensations of having a body, which goes away immediately when he steps off it.

There seems to be only one thing to do. Ciel returns to the path, feeling a surface beneath his bare feet, although he can neither see or feel legs supporting his weight. He lifts one phantom foot, and begins to follow the path.

 

-

They’re sparring carefully in the small space, but rapidly. Ronald is good, but not as good as her, so he’s lucky she’s not aiming to kill. But her precision is matched by his inhuman speed.

The sound of the swords clashing is interspersed with panting breath and dancing feet. Every time she blocks an attack, he lunges again, not giving her time to launch a proper counter-strike. Lizzie wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead, side-stepping his most recent blow. If only she can disarm him for a second…

“Giving up, Princess?” he smirks, pushing up his glasses which are sliding down his nose.

“In your dreams.” She sees him go to the left, and throws her body weight correspondingly to her to right, straight into the path of his blade. It works; he slows, thinking he’s got her now, and she touches the tip of the sword with her hand as she pirouettes. He lets go in surprise, and by the time she’s facing him again, she now has his sword in her grasp, flipping it and catching the handle with ease.

She points both swords with her arms crossed, one glistening blade resting on either side of his collar. “I win.”

Ronald is gasping for breath, kneeling a little and putting both hands in the air. “You do.” He’s smiling, even though he’s completely at her mercy and obviously just as worn out.

Lizzie’s breaths come fast as she looks down at him. They stay like that for a moment, studying each other’s faces. He looks different when he’s not being cocky- much nicer.

In multiple ways.

  
She becomes aware that their breathing is synchronized, and not coming easier despite the stillness. His eyes are even brighter green than hers, and they’re looking back at her with equal intensity, flicking down to her parted lips and back again.

“Me again darlings!” Suddenly Grell is bursting through the door with a flourish, but she pauses balanced on one leg at the sight before her.   
“My, what’s this? Are you fighting for place as my underling? Don’t stop on my account, but there’s plenty of me to go round!”

They straighten up and Lizzie replaces her swords in their sheaths. Grell drapes herself over one of the chairs, twirling a strand of crimson hair. “Soooooo. It seems that some clever Angel has indeed gone and pushed your sweetheart’s soul through the Divide into this world. Well, not quite all of it.”

Lizzie frowns. “What do you mean?”

Grell titters. “Oh, you air-headed little porcelain doll. Turns out darling Sebastian wasn’t being entirely honest with us all, and has already taken a little bite.”

 

-

The wounds have developed into blisters now, and are hot to the touch, surrounded by dark bruises. Sebastian has no idea if his Master has any connection to his lifeless body, but he bathes him carefully, in luke-warm water, just in case. Afterwards, he rubs soothing ointment into the burns that cover Ciel’s right shoulder and ribs, as well as part of his back. Finally, he dresses his Master in a soft silk nightshirt and tucks him gently back into bed.

He’s just finishing when a pigeon begins to peck at the small window. There’s a note on its leg written in bright red ink.

_The soul is here but it’s incomplete. Did you get peckish?_

So whilst Ciel is not transforming fully, as he would have been in Hell, there is a chance that part of his soul has broken off and begun to become demonic. But souls do not divide and carry on existing, the young Master should have burned in his entirety or not at all. The portion currently trapped in Purgatory must be substantial to have escaped- but whether it will be enough to restore the Earl to life and finish the contract remains to be seen.

Sebastian ties his answer to the pigeon’s leg and hurls it out the window, watching it fly away.

_I did nothing of the sort. The fate of the missing piece is beyond any of our control._

 

-

Ciel has no idea how long he’d been walking for; the sky hasn’t changed, he has no muscles to grow weary. Occasionally, to one side, he will see the outlines of jagged rocks, but nothing else. Until he sees what looks like a ghost walking towards him.

He stops in his tracks. The faint outline of the elderly man is flickering and Ciel can see straight through him. The mouth is moving, and as he gets closer the words, “Can anyone see me? Can anyone hear me?” drift overhead.

“I can!” Ciel calls. “Do you know what’s at the end of-“ But the old man has passed him, passed through him in fact, and is walking slowly onwards, still repeating his questions.  
Do I look like that, Ciel wonders, a ghostly version of myself? If I speak, would it even be possible to hear me?

When a second apparition passes him, he shouts as loud as he can, but this one too appears to not notice him. The more he walks, the more monochrome, distorted images he sees. Some are silent, some are screaming that they want to go home, one woman is singing a lullaby while clutching an armful of bloody rags. None of them seem to notice him.   
These must be other souls, he realizes, also sentenced by Angels like he has been. Just how long have they been trapped here, following this path?

 


	7. His Fiancee, Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie gets a new dress and a new objective.

The Dressmaker’s shop is reachable by another featureless black carriage that seems to know where they want to go.

“He failed his Shinagami exams, so he can visit the human world but only the time that it currently is down there.” Grell explains. “Don’t bring any of this up, he’s rather sensitive.”

“Right.” Lizzie digests the information. “And how do I pay him?”

Her reaper guide waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that. He’ll just want the clothes back if you die in them. Here we are.”

The carriage has come to an abrupt halt, depositing them outside a building made from the same dark stone. Inside however, is spacious and well-lit, with rows and rows of garments hanging on racks along the walls, which are several times higher than even the ballroom at Midford Manor. There are also mannequins, some of which have heads or limbs hanging off.

“Hello there.” A rather short, aged man dressed impeccably in golden robes hops down from a stool behind a cluttered desk and approaches them. “This must be the human mannequin you promised me, Grell dearest?”

“Huh?” Lizzie’s hands go to the hilts of her swords, but both reapers laugh at her.

“No sense of humour. Life is wasted down there.” The Dressmaker promptly disappears, humming to himself, and come back two minutes later with a large sack slung over his shoulder.

“This way, please Miss Human Doll.” He beckons towards a red velvet curtain.

She obliges, feeling a little put out at having a male tailor- but she’s rapidly adjusting to this world. He has her stand on a low stool and remover her outer garments, then there is a great deal of excited tittering while she feels ties being fastened. Looking down, Lizzie realizes what she’s being fitted in- a corset and underskirt made of light but very thick metal.

“Only a death scythe can get through this,” exclaims the Dressmaker, clapping his gnarled little hands. “Now, you need to look like a normal human from the outside… excuse me… Grell! Have you chosen a dress yet?”

“Here!” Grell pokes her head round the curtain, brandishing a black gown with long sleeves.

Lizzie wrinkles her nose. “I’m supposed to be cute you know.”

“Yet you thought it fine to come into my shop wearing boy’s trousers three inches too short and a crumpled blouse? Stand still. Ah, that’s better.”  
He gestures for her to step down, removing the last few pins from her sleeve, and leads her over to a three-faced full length mirror where she can get a good look of herself.

She looks like a lady again, more so now that Grell is fastening a jeweled necklace around her throat.

“Lightweight but hardwearing fabric, of my own design.” The Dressmaker runs his fingers fondly along the hem of the gown. “And customized of course.”

It’s then that she realizes that at either hip is sheath hidden in the pleats of the skirt, meaning she can easily conceal her swords. The wide sash tied at her waist also has an inner lining where she secures her pocket knife, the shape disguised by the dark colour of the material.  
She curtseys to her reflection, twirls, and draws one of the swords.

“Well?” The Dressmaker is hovering excitedly. “Do you feel like you can fight immortal beings now?”

Lizzie takes in her own face, already hardened. “I feel like I can _win._ ”

 

After leaving the Dressmaker’s shop, they head to what Grell describes as a ‘pigeon station’- and it turns out to be literally that. They exit the now familiar black carriage onto a platform bearing a desk and about thirty cages, most of them occupied by ordinary-looking birds.

“This is another career option for those who don’t make the grades,” Grell winks, pointing to the cupboard of feed and a foul-smelling bin. “Servicing.”

The shinigami writes a note with a red pen from her breast pocket, selects the least grumpy-looking pigeon, kisses the note, stuffs it into the pouch on the pigeon’s leg, and beckons for Lizzie to peer over the opposite edge of the platform from where the track terminated. Down below them is what looks like a crack in the sky, leaking rays of turquoise light.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“It’s the Divide.” Grell joins her in staring down. “The only way of getting from my world to yours and back. Potentially fatal to everything except Reapers and pigeons. Locked to demons.” She drops the pigeon, which plummets for a bit before spreading its wings and flying straight into the light.

“So I just need to get Ciel’s soul back across it and he’ll be fine?” Lizzie can’t bring herself to entertain the idea that part of the soul is gone forever, or what this might mean for her fiancé.

“Probably. I’ve never put a soul into a human body, it tends to be the other way round.” Grell takes out a pocket mirror and begins nonchalantly touching up her lipstick. “But souls don’t like to be without a protective flesh suit, so it’s likely that once he’s released, the little puppy will run straight back to his body and his demon handler.”

Sebastian. The only one she’s ever trusted to look after Ciel. And probably the one responsible for this entire ordeal. But despite this, Grell is still faifthul to him- so should she be? Or should she try and kill him the moment she returns home?

“If you’re looking for it, you’re wasting your time.” Grell interrupts her internal monologue. “Souls have no substance, at least not to human eyes. But it won’t be far from here.”

“So how am I meant to find-“

“Look at your locket, blind Dolly.”

Lizzie takes proper notice of the necklace she’s wearing for the first time. It’s made of a dull metal, much too rigid to be silver or gold. Beads of polished green stone are attached to the chain, but it’s the locket she turns over between her fingers- when it opens, a small sliver of metal falls into her palm, this time shiny and very sharp.

“It’s a piece of decommissioned Death Scythe. The one I trained dear Ronnie with, to be precise. Not suitable for actual reaping, of course, but it’s enough to hold a small human soul until you get back across the Divide.”

“I… Thank you Grell.” Lizzie holds the small blade up to examine it, catching the reflection of her own eyes.

“Oh, it was no trouble. After all, you’re the one that’s going to go down and reap him.”

“What?”

Grell laughs- and pushes Lizzie off the edge of the platform.

 

-

Forever. He’s been walking forever. There is no physical tiredness, but the lull of the heavy sky and the slow rhythm of his steps seems to be inducing a state of sleep.

Maybe he can stop for a little while.

No sooner has he ceased walking, Ciel can feel his consciousness starting to fall away. He’s imagining Lizzie’s voice calling his name softly.

“I miss you Lizzie,” he murmurs, allowing himself to drop down onto the surface of liquid light. How many years now since he last saw her, or Sebastian, or any of the servants? Or perhaps just seconds? There is no way of telling. Sleep is calling.

Just before he succumbs, the image of Lizzie appears before him; she’s wielding a sword in one hand, the other cupping something he can’t make out. Probably a caterpillar or something. She’s fond of brightly-coloured insects.

“Don’t worry Lizzie.” He whispers. “Sebastian will come for me.” Then nothing.


	8. His Fiancee, Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie experiences her first time saving a life, and her first time ending one.

Lizzie stands as still as she can, watching the scythe fragment in her palm fidget as it tries to latch on to the presence of human soul. Every now and then it grows warm, but Grell had shouted down to her not to strike until it started to glow- before finishing with a cheerful yell of “I’m off to the hairdresser’s, I’ll be back in two hours!”

It doesn’t help that there is no solid surface beneath her boots, only the rippling blue light. Occasionally she thinks she can hear a whisper, or even a roar in the distance- the grisly illustrations from the ‘wildlife’ books she’d skimmed earlier that day prevents her from letting her guard down.

Now.   
The metal shard is almost burning her palm, glowing golden. This must mean her target is near, even though she can’t see or hear him.

“Ciel.” She calls softly into the empty sky. “Ciel.”  
She realises she’s holding her breath. How will she know when it happens? She’s holding the piece of scythe at arm’s length now, wincing at the pain- and then suddenly it becomes cold, but continues to glow.  
It must have worked.

“Ciel,” she breathes once more, fumbling to secure the fragment back into the locket before her shaking hands lose it- _him-_ forever.

Suddenly, there is a scream.

Lizzie whirls round, raising her sword. Barely feet away now, a creature is charging towards her now- a creature the size of a horse but with scaly skin the colour of old bone, at least ten or twelve clawed limbs, and a jagged mouth stretched across its eyeless head. Strings of saliva dangle like pendulums from the gaping jaw as it rises up to strike-

“Grell!” Lizzie screams, slashing with her sword. It slices the abomination’s cheek, causing it to pull back and screech in pain, but it goes for a second attack, and this time so does she. This time, she takes the head clean off.

“Very nice, very good.” Grell lands daintily in front of her, coat billowing, and straightens up to examine the freshly slaughtered thing. “These things were alright at first but then they went feral.” She kicks the head and it rolls away, bouncing slightly and leaving a trail of thick, tarry blood.

Lizzie flicks her sword in disgust to dislodge the same substance. “Good timing there, I could have been eaten.”

“But you weren’t, and- ooo!” Grell realizes that Lizzie’s other hand has been pressed to the locket at her throat this whole time. “You got him! Fabulous, let’s get you back to the bachelor pad so I can go out and show off my shiny waterfall.” She shakes her head, causing the cascade of red to shimmer slightly. “Come on.”

Lizzie sheaths her sword and takes Grell’s offered hand, and in one leap they’re back on the platform where another identical carriage awaits.

“You know, you’d make a good Shinigami.” Grell muses. “But it’d be such a waste of a pretty figure. After they reincarnate you, you get offered the chance to train, and if you say yes they try to turn you into a man.” She sniffs dismissively. “But I’d rather have the chance to woo dear Bassy with my infallible powers, than have a curvy body and be stuck behind a desk all day.”

Lizzie remembers the boss William referring to Grell as ‘him’. Exactly why is unclear, when she’s obviously as much of a woman as Lizzie. She’s too tired to think about it any more though.

“Here we are.” Grell interrupts Lizzie’s thoughts once more. She comes back to her senses as they start to climb the now familiar corkscrew staircase. At the top, Grell pushes open the door- are all doors sentient here? none seem to have locks, but presumably they don't open for just anybody- and calls, “Have a good night kiddies!” in a sing-song voice before disappearing.

Ronald is rubbing his eyes, wearing purple pyjamas. “Well? Nice dress by the way.” he yawns.

Lizzie holds up the locket. “I got him.”

“Excellent. ‘Cause I got a message from the higher-ups. You’re goin’ before the Council tomorrow morning to ‘ear your verdict.”

“Oh. Right.” Lizzie realizes she’s yawning too. “I think it’s bedtime.” She slips into the washroom to remove her dress and her armour- which takes a while, but she’ll go to Hell before asking for help- and realises that her original clothes are still at the Dressmaker’s, so probably burnt by now.

Oh well. Her drawers and undershirt aren’t exactly formfitting, and nobody seems offended by ankles or elbows in this place. And if she can cut off a beast’s head, then she can certainly cut off a reaper’s wandering hand.  
When she emerges self-consciously from the bathroom, Ronald is lying down in the bed, apparently almost asleep already. She starts scanning the floor for a soft-looking patch.

“Stop dithering. Get in.” Ronald mumbles, patting the pillow next to him, before turning to face the wall and burrowing under the covers. Lizzie turns the locket between her fingers.

“Don’t worry Ciel, I’m staying faithful,” she whispers with a smile as she approaches the bed, then climbs in. It’s warm.

“He can’t hear you.” Ronald’s voice comes muffled from the lump of covers. “He’s asleep too.”  


-

Lizzie wakes to a shrill ringing sound, and a cry of “Pancakes!”  
“Huh?”

“Damnit!” With a frying pan in one hand, Ronald hops onto a chair and pokes the spatula at a small bell that’s upside down on the ceiling. The ringing dies away, and he topples a little.

“Um, good morning.” Lizzie slides out of bed and straightens out the covers out of habit, noticing the smell of smoke.

“Mornin’.” Ronald grins, dishing up the slightly-charred pancakes onto two plates. He sighs. “Deborah from Finance has been teachin’ me to cook, but some things are harder than others.”

Lizzie thinks of the ‘chef’ at Phantomhive manor, who no doubt would have caused a full-on fire to break out. “It’s not bad.”

After breakfast, she dresses and rebraids her hair. When she emerges from the washroom, Ronald is buttoning up his white shirt- she averts her eyes- and grumbling to himself about non-stick bottoms.

Her eyes roam the ceiling, the ropes of tiny lights being the closest thing to stars she’s seen in days. Lizzie’s mind has been focused entirely on protecting Ciel, there’s been no room to consider her own fate. What will happen if she’s not allowed to live? Will they just have her reaped as soon as she steps into the building? Or does she actually have to experience dying, feeling the poison slowly burn her from the inside out? She wonders who’s been assigned to oversee her death. Maybe Ronald, who’s acted like a friend to her, or Grell, who’s helped her as well- yes, Grell would be able to kill her without a second thought

But so would Sebastian. There are humans, and then there others, and none of them can be trusted. Her fingers wrap around the locket again. If she dies here, Ciel will never have a chance at life. But at least Sebastian won’t get his meal or his satisfaction.

“Ready to go?” Ronald’s voice makes her jump. She realizes that she’s crying. He pokes her cheek, his head cocked to one side. “You ain’t scared are you?”

“No.” Lizzie smooths her skirt, feeling the concealed weapons. “I can’t wait to get out of this place. I want to go home and put on my wedding dress and be by Ciel’s side. And if I can’t have my husband and keep him safe, then I want to die.”

Ronald takes her hand. She doesn’t protest this time, but allows him to escort her out.

 

-

“Elizabeth Ethel Cordelia Midford.” William T Spears stands with his back to the table of ancient reapers as he reads to her, “You are the intended wife of the human Ciel Phantomhive. Is this correct?”

“Yes.” She clutches the locket.

“You are devoted to his safety and his service. Is this correct?”

“Yes.”

“You are aware that Phantomhive has entered a contract with a being from Hell that constitutes both a danger and a nuisance to humans and Reapers alike. Is this correct?”

“Yes.” Lizzie fiddles with the locket, scanning the faces of the twelve silent Council members. Each is as blank as Spears’.

“The Council has decreed that your continued protection of Ciel Phantomhive will assist in keeping the Demon Sebastian Michaelis under control. Consequently, the vote in favour of abiding by your original scheduled death is unanimous, and your suicide attempt has been declared unsuccessful. Your life is to restored and continued with immediate effect. Sutcliffe, Knox, you are tasked with the delivery. Do a good job and you shall be cleared of any charges of misconduct relating to this case. Screw up and there will be Hell to pay.” With this, William closes his notebook and walks stiffly out of the room.

“Here we go then!” Grell drags Lizzie by the arm out into the corridor and up a flight of steps, into an enormous room, white like all the others, but with a crack in the floor at least ten feet wide. Reapers are forming neat queues on either side to jump down into the cavern, or out again, all bathed in a now familiar blue glow.   
This must have been where she came through. How long is this thing? She’s sure that they’re nowhere near the place she found Ciel.

“This is our official stretch of the Divide,” Ronald explains as he catches up. “For authorized missions.” He takes her other arm, both reapers summoning their ridiculous-looking scythes as well. The three of them step forward.

“Im glad you’re not dying yet.” Says Ronald quietly. “You’re kinda cool actually. I’ll erm, stay until you’ve put ‘im back in ‘is body.”

“Thank you.”

They’re at the front of the queue now, toes over the edge.

Lizzie closes her eyes. “Here I come, Ciel.” She whispers.

“Here I come, _Sebas-chan!”_ Grell cackles.

They jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my little headcanon is that all actual 'shinigami'- the ones who can wield Death Scythes, and not the secretaries/dropouts etc are given 'male' bodies when reincarnated, just because tradition (wrongly) dictates that certain roles can only be taken by men. Grell is female but shinigami have always been male, hence Will misgendering her. Grell may have been trans in her human life, but she may have had a cis 'female' body.


	9. His Butler, Subdued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian finds that he is no longer in control now that Lizzie is back in the human world.

The faces of the three servants are pale and drawn.

“Is it true Mr Sebastian?” Mey-Rin whispers.

Sebastian nods. “I am afraid so. The Lord Ciel has not been found by any search party because he is not in this world, he is another.”

None of them are stupid-well, not in this context at least. They must have realized some time ago that the circumstances of Phantomhive Manor are not what humans would call ‘natural.’ But the confirmation of powers beyond their comprehension causes a reaction in all three; Mey-Rin and Finnian clutch each other tightly, their hands shaking. Bard turns his back and walks over to the fireplace, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Can you save him?” The chef addresses his question to the flames, never one to show worry.

“I think so.” Sebastian answers. “But it will be dangerous for the young Master, and all those close to him. The dangers of which I speak are also not of this world.” He doesn’t add _neither am I_. Although most humans would undoubtedly consider him firmly in the category of ‘dangers’.

The maid and the gardener say nothing, but both are blinking back tears. Bard too is quiet, staring at the flames. Sebastian is not quite sure what to say in all honesty, so he waits.

“So what’s new?” Bard turns round suddenly to face them, and there is no trace of fear or despair on his features. “When have we ever been safe?”

“You’re right.” Mey-Rin folds her glasses in her apron pocket and looks at Sebastian with her piercing eyes. “Whatever is coming, whatever happens, it doesn’t matter if we are afraid or not. We have a job to do.”

Finnian takes her hand, and moves them to stand next to Bard, who puts an arm around his shoulder. “We are Phantomhive servants!” shouts the young man. “And we will do our duty to protect our Master!”

“That we shall.” A fourth soldier has slipped unnoticed into the room, and now comes to stand by the other servants, bowing to Sebastian. Tanaka.  
“You should not have doubted our loyalty.” He says quietly. “Human or spirit, we stand by the side of the Earl Phantomhive with you.”

Sebastian bows in return to the other butler, and looks at all four of them. They look determined. They look strong.

“Thank you for continuing to uphold your steely resolve and the name of Phantomhive,” he murmurs, before exiting the kitchen.

It is a comfort to know that everything the young Master holds dear is still guarded. _Comfort._ Another word that means nothing to a Demon.

Returning to his room, Sebastian locks the door, checking for a message from Grell, but there is nothing since last night’s promise to accompany Lady Elizabeth soul-hunting (and a disgustingly flirtatious suggestion for their upcoming ‘date’).  
Ciel is now sweating, the injuries from where Sebastian’s power touched him hot enough to turn the salty beads into steam. Sebastian leaves the boy clothed and covered for the sake of decency.

There are no records of a human ever becoming a demon, so all his movements are based on legend and hear-say. From his own experience, a newly birthed demon does not wake until Summoned, so there is no chance of descending to Hell and collecting the piece of his Master that is the only reason his body has not given out from the coma and the burns- which seem to be an indicator of the transformation happening, worsening as time passes. Furthermore, he knows that a demon has little to no powers until it has fed- no immortality or the ability to shape-shift, only enough stealth and strength to catch prey.

The question now is the likelihood of either part of the soul returning to the body. The larger portion will grant him life, for a short time at least, and then a weak death. The smaller part- the part that is no longer human- will not. It will instead, theoretically at least, grant him an eternity of slavery and hunger.

Even if given a chance to influence things, Sebastian knows it is a choice he cannot make.

Crash.

 The door is broken down with three simultaneous kicks. Sebastian looks up from his patient to see Lady Elizabeth, swords drawn, flanked by Grell and another Reaper, also armed.  
“Secure the demon!” she orders immediately.

Hindered by his shock, Sebastian doesn’t move fast enough and Grell is instantly behind him, pressing their scythe to his chest. “I always thought of myself as a submissive, but this is actually rather fun.” They giggle.

Lizzie presses the tip of one sword to Sebastian’s throat. “Don’t interfere. Ronald, if he moves, don’t hesitate.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t.” the younger Reaper grins. “Don’t you worry.”

“Lady Elizabeth,” Sebastian interrupts, “I am not-“

“Shut it, Demon.” She glares once more before sheathing her weapons and turning to the bed.

He could take down at least one of the Reapers, and human weapons only cause pain, no injury. But he’s been caught off guard, and there are two of the bastards- probably better to do as the Lady wishes for now.

Lizzie strokes Ciel’s hair and places a kiss to his forehead before straightening up and opening the locket that nestles against her clavicle. The scent that fills the air causes Sebastian’s fangs to extend, and he licks moisture from his lip. Grell tightens their grip, Ronald takes a step closer in warning.  
The splinter of metal in Lizzie’s hand glows blindingly gold, then blue. Sebastian can only watch as his Master’s soul fights to free itself from what must be a piece of death scythe. She brings it to her lips, pressing a kiss to it, and that’s enough- Ciel’s soul bursts free with a blazing flash and rapidly disappears down his throat. The body convulses, and then is still against the mattress once more.

Lizzie drops to her knees. “Ciel,” she whispers, leaning over him, “Can you hear me?” Tears begin to fall from her eyes onto his face as they wait.

Nothing happens.

Suddenly she stands, whipping out her swords. One points at Sebastian and Grell, the other at Ronald. “Why isn’t he waking up?” She demands of them all. “Answer me!”

Ronald shrugs. “I dunno.” He whispers. “Calm down, please Dolly.”

“No!” She turns to face Sebastian. “You should know. You’re the one who’s wanted to kill him all along anyway.”

If he had a heart, it would probably break to see her despair. But he doesn’t.  
Sebastian heaves a sigh. “It seems that the amount of my Lord’s soul that has been recovered… is not enough. But please believe me, my Lady, I did not consume the missing piece.”

“So where is it?” She’s now holding the edge of one sword right to his cheek.

“Hell.”

“Huh?” The two Reapers are just as confused.

“But you said…” Lizzie doesn’t lower her sword.

“The rest of my Master’s soul disappeared without the Angels taking it, after being touched by my power. It is my belief that as a result, that part of his soul has gained some of that power.”

The swords fall onto the floorboards with a clatter. Lizzie sinks down after them, burying her face in her hands.  
There are several more minutes’ silence. Ronald squats next to her and puts an arm her shoulders. Grell is glancing around as though growing bored.

“Then I shall summon him.” Lizzie stands suddenly, brushing off the Reaper’s touch, no longer crying. “I can right?” She looks questioningly at Sebastian.

He swallows. “If that part of his soul still exists and my theory is correct, then yes. All one requires is to be desperate, and to have renounced God.”

“That is no problem.” Lizzie looks at her still-comatose fiancé. “I have seen enough of this world and of another to know that there is no such thing as mercy. The fate of human life is decided coldly and impartially. I have no faith in God to save my Ciel.” As she finishes, she cups his face in her hands. “Come to me, the demon that has his name. Come to me!”  
This last is shrieked, and Ciel’s body begins to spasm once more as black smoke erupts from his mouth.

“My Lady!” Sebastian tries to grab her, but Grell’s hold is still strong. Ronald prises the girl off the thrashing body, which is still emitting heat and smog. There is a scream, a ghastly, inhuman sound, and then silence as the spasms cease.   
Two Reapers, a Demon and a human hold their breath, waiting for the smoke to clear and reveal the face of Ciel Phantomhive.

His eyes are wide open. One blue, one red.

 


	10. His Lordship, Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel is reunited with Lizzie and Sebastian, and realises that more has happened to him than he remembers.

Voices. Sebastian? He’s not sure. And then pain, white hot and suffocating. Ciel screams, lets himself taste blood because it means he has a body again, he is still alive. More voices. More blistering pain, on his skin as well as in his throat and lungs. He is alive.

Then suddenly it stops and his eyes are opening upon the scene of Lizzie standing several feet away from him, her face buried in her hands. A young man is behind her, with his arms around her waist. Neither have yet noticed he is awake.  
Ciel realizes that he’s in Sebastian’s room at Phantomhive Manor. The Demon himself is also here, as is that Reaper who killed Aunt Ann.

“Ciel!” Lizzie’s whisper is so very faint as she realizes he is awake, and she takes a few trembling steps forward. The stranger puts a hand on her shoulder. Nobody else moves.

Ciel feels all their eyes on him as he sits up, feeling the stiffness of his body. They aren’t expecting him to lunge forward and punch the stranger squarely in the face.

“Get your hands off my fiancee!” he yells, or rather chokes, because suddenly his knees are buckling and his eyes roll back, a horribly familiar feeling his chest. In one quick movement, Sebastian has him off the floor and back onto the bed.

“I think that’s our cue to leave.” The stranger is cupping his nose. Grell is laughing so hard she can barely stand.

“Oh, isn’t this so entertaining! But we’ve played our roles indeed, and the wrath of Will awaits if we are late…” Grell’s fingers linger on Sebastian’s lapel. “I have completed my side of the bargain, Bassy dear. Don’t forget yours.” And with a titter, she is gone.

Lizzie turns to the other. “Thank you for everything Ronald.”

“See ya round. Keep that bit of scythe.” Her gives her a quick hug- Ciel _growls_ although he doesn’t know why- and is gone too.

Sebastian has been examining Ciel this whole time and now says, “It is safe to approach.” He takes a step back and allows Lizzie to throw herself at him. Confused, Ciel brushes his fingertips back and forth against her hair, her clothes.

“Real,” he murmurs.

“Oh Ciel, I’m so glad you’re back.” She has a moment with her face buried in his neck, then composes herself. “Are you hurt? Have you lost your memories?”

“Please,” Sebastian interrupts, “Allow me to make the young Master more comfortable. I shall call the maid to attend to yourself, my Lady. I shall prepare tea also. Then there will be time to talk.”

 

 

Half an hour later, Lizzie slips through the connecting door from her room to Ciel’s to find him sitting up in bed, now wearing his eyepatch once again. Sebastian is pouring tea, and there is also porridge on the tray. The room smells of something medicinal.

Sebastian bows as Lizzie enters and cautiously lowers herself into a chair set by the bedside. “The young Master has been made aware that he was taken by Angels as punishment for sullying the Church of St Zita, and that you risked your own life to restore his soul to this world.”

Ciel is looking at her with that one wide eye. “Why… why did you do that Lizzie?”

There are so many things she can say but three simple words cover it all: “I love you.”

Ciel feels a pain in his chest again, but not like the asthma or the injuries. Something somehow even more human.

“I must ready myself. There is no doubt that the Angels will realise soon enough that my Master is gone.” Sebastian bows and makes to leave, but pauses. “Oh, a trivial matter I have no doubt, but Zita is the Patron Saint of household servants.”  
He exits with a smile.

Lizzie takes Ciel’s hands in hers. “Your eyes…”

It’s too late to shield her now. He takes a deep breath. “One of them is marked by the seal of the Contract between Sebastian and myself. That is why it appears violet-“

“No,” Lizzie whispers, “It’s red. Was it not before?”

What?

She’s now caressing his cheek. “What do you remember?”

“Well, I…” Ciel looks down at her hand. “I was outside of my body. I was told my soul is pure, but I’d still have to serve time… I was following this path made of blue light, for ages and ages until I fell asleep and you were in my dream… and then I woke up here.”

“Nothing else?”

“Only pain.” He presses a palm to his right eye, the one marked by Sebastian’s seal. Has it changed? He needs to look.  
Ciel tries to get up but the sudden movement causes him double over, head spinning. Lizzie grabs his shoulders.

“Mirror,” he pants, gritting his teeth at the agony nestled under his ribs. “I need to see.”

“Easy now.” Lizzie helps him stand. Slowly they walk to the other side of the room, where a full length mirror stands by the wardrobe. Ciel takes a good look.

She’s a full two inches taller than him now, and still petite and doll-like, but more adult than he realized- it shows in her eyes as well as the shape of her body.  
He himself looks the same as ever, although pale, until he removes the eyepatch and finds himself looking into a blood-red iris, still marked by Sebastian’s seal. Aware of the pain there, he clumsily undoes the first four buttons of his nightshirt, pulling the material aside.  
It looks like his torso has been beaten repeatedly with a hot poker; Ciel touches his shaking fingers to one of the puckered wounds. Before his eyes, it fades, steam rising from his skin. He touches another, then another, and they seem to heal, the bruising vanishing.

“What am I?” He whispers, pressing the trembling hand to his mouth.

“You’re part demon.”

 

 

He allows Lizzie help him back to bed, but insists upon feeding himself. “I’m feeling better already.” He tells her.   
It’s true, he’s healed most of his physical wounds, so he’s expecting his strength to come back. But Ciel feels somehow unbalanced, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his soul apparently now has a ‘pure’ side and an ‘evil’ side. No, he feels as though the tables have been turned. That conversation held in Lizzie’s bed four nights ago- it’s really only been that time, despite feeling like years-, in that conversation he as good as admitted to lying to her, for her own protection. But she’s seen his world now, and she’s the one who’s been protecting him.

Dear little Elizabeth. The only one who’s stayed in his life for its entirety. The only one who makes him feel _human_.

“Stay with me.” He says suddenly. Lizzie looks up at him. “I can’t protect you the way I’d like to, but you’ve proved strong enough to protect yourself. I know you don’t need me. But… I think I need you.”

“Ciel.” She whispers. “Of course I will.”

And then she’s kissing him, her small hands warm as they cup his face. So rarely have they kissed before that he has no idea what to do with his own hands, which end up landing on her waist as he leans involuntarily forward.

There’s a knock at the door and they peel apart, both blushing heavily.

“Master?” Sebastian calls. “There’s something I think you should see.”


	11. His servants, an army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the Guardian angels are pissed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware that this chapter contains violence and mild gore. Also, it's the first proper action scene I've written, so feedback is greatly appreciated.

It’s the middle of the day, but the sky is now dark blue, featureless entirely. The air is cold against skin and inside lungs.  
Sebastian’s pocketwatch appears broken; the hands keep freezing and then spinning furiously forwards, or backwards. Whatever lockdown state the manor has been placed in is obviously interfering with the standard progression of time.

Behind the front door, Sebastian and Elizabeth stand either side of Ciel with their backs to him, poised ready for action. One has removed his gloves and extended his fangs, the other has pulled her armoured corset tight and is clutching two freshly sharpened swords.  
Between them, Ciel trains his eyes on the door- both of them. The red eye has much sharper vision, but he can’t use it exclusively without excruciating pain. So he narrows both as his free hand goes to steady the other, which is holding his pistol.

On the rooftop, Mey-Rin has a rifle in each hand. Clamped between her teeth is a smoke-bomb, only around the size of a walnut but capable of releasing enough bright red fog for the entire estate to see and understand. One of Bard’s finest, if accidental, inventions.  
She doesn’t rip the pin out, not yet. They wait.

 

Finally, a voice breaks the silence, carrying easily despite the lack of wind.

 “ _Ciel Phantomhive. You have broken the rules of your Penitence. You will die.”_

She starts firing before she can even see them. The two Angels flicker into view ten feet above the ground, their wings spread wide; feathers cascade to the ground where her bullets clip them. Crouched behind her, Finny is ready with the next two fully loaded rifles- they’ve been rehearsing the handover ever since Sebastian’s warning, and it takes just three seconds before she’s opening fire again.

Bullets can’t kill them, so there’s no point aiming for the head or heart. But every time she punctures a hole through one of their wings, they fall a few more inches, weakening themselves as they try to repair the damage.  
It takes four more full rounds from each hand, but both are eventually forced to land, unable to keep themselves in the air.

“Now Finny!” Mey-Rin yells. Finny stands and shoves the huge boulder behind which they were hiding. It narrowly misses the Angels below; he sprints to the next, doing the same; this one traps one of the targets. The other is already standing again, purple light shrouding its wings as it heals itself.  
There is no time to lose. Mey-Rin rips the smoke bomb out from between her teeth, the pin staying clampted there, and throws it. The Angel can see where she is now, and she immediately starts firing again, trying to keep it distracted long enough.

 

Poised at either side of the driveway, about two hundred feet away, Tanaka and Bard both see Mey-Rin’s signal. Both are huddled over identical contraptions, a series of whirring cogs housed inside stewpots and standing on tripods over lit gas lanterns. Just enough heat. In front of each on the ground is one end of a long, thick wire, which is buried in a shallow trench between them. A wire which, thanks to them, is now connected to both generators, and is live.

 

Mey-Rin is starting to run out of bullets. Finny has thrown down all the boulders he’d placed, but he’s on the other side of the roof now, and there’s no way he can get back to reload for her before the Angel finishes healing. The other is starting to break free. “Hurry up,” she pleads, watching the scene below them.

And it happens, just in time. The string of explosives planted in a zig-zagging pattern across the front of the manor detonate almost simultaneously as the electricity triggers the outer ones, which then shake the central ones to life- the ones surrounding their targets.

The screams of the Angels are louder even than the explosions. The four servants tremble where they crouch, covering their ears. But one of the bombs is buried close to the manor’s front porch. Slightly too close.   
As soon as they realise, they abandon their own fear and start running.

 

“Get back!” Sebastian commands as soon as the ground beneath their feet begins to shake.

“No.” Ciel steadies his pistol once more. “I give the orders.”

Before the butler can respond, there is a blast that knocks all three to their feet and a hideous splintering _yawn._ Lizzie grabs Ciel tightly, Sebastian covering both their bodies with his own. The dust is thick, hot. It stings the human eyes.

As soon as she can stand again, Lizzie furiously blinks her burning eyes into focus and picks up her two swords, but gasps in pain and lets the right one clatter to the floor again- her wrist is twisted beyond use, and ugly bruises are already trying to decorate the growing swelling.   
Behind her, Sebastian pulls Ciel to his feet, checking him over for broken bones. “Two ribs,” he murmurs, but Ciel shrugs him off, drawing himself up straight and trying to bring forth his demonic energy to mend them.

All three of them take in the sight in front of them. Where the doors used to be is now a gaping hole, chunks of the wall ripped away and the masonry above groaning precariously without its usual support. Emerging from the ruins are the two Angels; both are letting their wings drag on the ground, obviously shattered. One is missing an arm, blown off by the dynamite, and sways where it stands. The other has a piece of wood jutting straight out of its chest, which it pulls out and tosses aside, sending blood spraying everywhere.

Both are snarling as they limps forward, reaching out.

 

Ciel drops to his knees, gritting his teeth. If he could fix the burns, surely he can fix his ribs? He needs to be able to fight.  
In front of him, his demon butler and human fiancée stand ready for battle. He will not cower on the floor behind their backs while they try and save his life, not this time. Reaching into his pocket, Ciel pulls out his eyepatch and ties the string clumsily at the back of his head. Damn the pain, this might just work.

 

“Hand over the boy.” One of the Angels has advanced to what used to be the doorway, clutching the shoulder where its arm has been ripped away.

“I’m afraid the Master is not seeing visitors right now,” replies Sebastian smoothly, tossing a knife which lodges itself squarely into the Angel’s forehead. It shrieks, staggering backwards.

“This is my chance,” Lizzie mutters, narrowing her eyes. Distracted by the demon, it’s obvious neither of the opponents think she poses a threat.  
Bad idea.  
Ignoring the agony of the crushed one, Lizzie grips her sword with both hands and sprints forward, driving the blade straight into the other Angel’s chest. It grabs her shoulders and takes her down with it, and she can’t get up without releasing the sword that’s lodged firmly into the inhuman flesh. No good. She probably won’t be able to go back for the other before-

“My Lady!” She whips round, just in time to catch the second sword that Sebastian has just thrown to her. The move has cost him dearly though, and the one-armed Angel has managed to lift its tattered wings, allowing it to muster up some of its power.  
Lizzie slashes her own Angel a few times before it can get up, and rounds on the other.

“This isn’t safe for humans.” Sebastian hisses at her. “Please retreat.”

“And watch you both die? Not a chance.”

The Angel is laughing now, hovering a few inches above the cracked tiles, blood dripping down its face from the knife still embedded in its forehead.  
“All of you will die.” It smirks, bathing them in the ultraviolet glow of its restoring energy.

Sebastian lunges.

“Sebastian!”

Lizzie turns to stare at Ciel in shock. He has got to his feet, but is doubled over in pain, fists clenched. Smoke seems to be rising from his very pores, thick and black. The human eye is concealed by his eyepatch; the marked one is wide and glowing like fire.

“Master! Mistress! Sebastian!” Panting heavily, Mey-Rin and Finny reach the scene. The elder servants are bringing up the rear. Finny retrieves the sword from the stone-like body on the ground, but the blade is twisted now. Useless.

The Angel is no longer laughing. It is staring at Ciel in shock.  
This is sufficient distraction for Sebastian to sink his teeth into its throat.

Three humans and a half-human, half-demon stand frozen in horror as the two beasts fight, the screams that fill the air enough to make even their bones tremble. The Angel’s one hand is clawing at Sebastian, sparks and blood raining down, but still he tears away lumps of skin and flesh until he pierces the anterior jugular vein. Lizzie tries to swallow, feeling bile rising in her throat, and starts to gag. Mey-Rin rushes to her side, holding her shoulder. The maid’s other hand now holds Ciel’s pistol, and she fires into the midst of the brawl, trying to break up the horrific sight. But it’s no use, the dying Angel is using the last of its energy to punch its fist deep into Sebastian’s chest. More blood sprays into the air.

“Sebastian, let go! This is an order!” Ciel grabs his butler by the shoulders and pulls. A fifteen-year old human would make less impact than a fly, but right now Ciel is so much more. He drags Sebastian away and throws him down to the floor, clamping the butler’s mouth shut with his hands. The demon’s eyes roll backwards. Blood is frothing around Ciel’s fingers.

The Angel falls to the ground at last, and moves no more.

 

Finny bursts into sobs as they watch Ciel overpower Sebastian, forcing him out of his savage trance. He shouldn’t be able to do this. But that one red eye is fixed upon Sebastian’s two, and the Master’s will is absolute.

Gradually, Sebastian comes back to his senses. By the time Ciel releases him, the boy is spent; he crawls off his butler and keels over, gasping as the burning pain racks his body. His stomach.

“Watch out!” Hands on his knees, wheezing, Bard skids to a halt a few feet away, and they see him nodding at the other Angel, which is beginning to stir.

“Finny, hold it down.” Lizzie orders.

He complies. Lizzie approaches it slowly, taking in the sight of Sebastian, bloodsoaked, cradling the now barely-conscious Ciel and murmuring an apology, and the servants, covered in dirt and gunpowder. The Angel cannot move, but its eyes are open as she bends over it, dropping her sword and fumbling instead with the locket around her neck.

The shard of death scythe glints between her fingers, before she slashes its throat without so much as a blink. “You lose.”

  



	12. His Butler, Preparing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the battle, everything seems to revert quickly back to normal...

For some time, everybody remains still, the silence as heavy as the corpses of the two Guardian Angels. Lizzie finally notices the pain in her right arm, and allows herself to stumble over.

“Lady Elizabeth, you’re hurt!” Mey-Rin exclaims, examining her bruised fingers and wrist.

“It’s nothing,” Lizzie protests, but somewhat weakly.

“Lizzie?” Ciel lets go of Sebastian’s jacket and throws off the eyepatch so he can see her with his human eye. Registering that she’s in pain, he extracts himself fully from Sebastian and drags himself across the floor, taking her good hand in his. “Lizzie.”

She feels her lips tremble as she meets his gaze. He reaches out and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

“Ciel.” Lizzie whispers. “You can’t let your demon side take control like that. It’ll burn you up.”

“I had to.” He whispers back. “Sebastian was crazed, he probably would have gone after the humans next if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“My sincerest apologies.” They all look up. Sebastian is bowing on one knee. When he straightens up, the extent of the wounds inflicted by the Angel are evident, but he has wiped the blood from his face and is wearing a pair of spotless white gloves. Ignoring their shock, the butler sighs. “This really is unsightly. Please, all of you, see to your injuries and find a change of clothing. I shall clear up here.”

A hand lands on both Ciel and Lizzie’s backs. They look up at Tanaka, who is smiling sadly, his eyes the clearest they’ve been in years.

“You don’t want to see what happens to the bodies,” he says quietly. “Come with me.”

 

-

Natural darkness is falling when Sebastian knocks on the drawing room door. Ciel and Lizzie are sitting side-by-side in exhausted silence, having both been tended to by the rather confused local doctor.

“I have prepared a creamy salmon and mushroom soup, and toast with seville marmalade.” He announces, wheeling in a trolley.

“Thank you,” Ciel murmurs absently, fiddling with the dressings covering Lizzie’s hand.

“There is also elderflower sencha. A light green tea, restoring but not too stimulating.” He places the dishes and cups on the table, then surveys his master, slumped back on the chaise lounge with his fiancee’s bandaged hand in his lap, one blue eye clouded and vacant.

Sebastian drops to one knee. “Master. You saved me from certain disgrace earlier. But please, do not try and evoke your powers again. Newborn demons are starving from the moment they awaken, and the pain will only worsen each time. It would be torture to you.”

“I won’t.” Ciel is staring unfocused at his knees. “I don’t want Lizzie to see me the way you were today.”

She frees her hand from his and pulls him into an embrace. When they separate, she looks questioningly at Sebastian. “Is it over now?”

“As much as anything can be in these circumstance, my Lady.” He stands up. “Shall I send out the invitations?”

“Invitations?” Ciel blinks, snapping out of his daze.

“For the wedding.” Sebastian smiles. “I assume it will still go ahead?”

The Earl looks at his fiancée, the two green eyes that have seen Death, and evil, and everything in between, and the mouth that smiles for him even after all of it.

“Of course.” He says. “As soon as possible.”

“Yes, my Lord.”  


-

Once all the humans have fallen into slumber, Sebastian retrieves a large wooden trunk from the cloakroom, hoists it upon one shoulder, and sets off for London. He finds the door to the Undertaker’s shop open.  
“Were you expecting me?” he asks as he enters.

From the shadows comes a wheezing giggle. “A little birdy told me that your supper made it back to the human world. I knew there’d be corpses.”

“Not human ones though.” A second voice, much younger and lighter. “’Cause there weren’t any collections in your area.”  
The reaper who brought back Elizabeth is sitting cross-legged on top of a coffin lid, drinking tea out of what appears to be a flower pot.

“That’s right.” The Undertaker steps into the light, placing his claw-like hand on Ronald’s head and leaning on one leg. “So, Sebastian, what have you got for me?” he licks his lips hopefully.

Sebastian sets down the trunk, flicking open the locks. “I’m afraid that my Master, although no longer entirely human, does not require one of your coffins. But I hope these will do.”  
He lifts the lid, allowing the two shinigami a look at the contents.  
“I had to break all the bones so they’d fit,” he continues, “but apart from that you’ll find them exactly how they died. Bullets and everything.”

The Undertaker is rubbing his hands together with glee. Ronald whistles. “I’ve never seen a live Angel before, but two dead ones count right?”

The demon’s eyes fall upon the young reaper. “Little birds should learn to stop singing _before_ the poisonous gas reaches their cages.”

He holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m just curious. Call me nosy if ya want. But you made a promise to Sutcliffe-senpai.”

“Indeed.” With a drawn-out sigh, Sebastian pulls an envelope from his pocket and tosses it carelessly in Ronald’s direction. Satisfied, he stows it in his own pocket, and then continues slurping his tea.

Sebastian turns to the Undertaker, who is whispering gleefully to himself as he examines the tip of one ruined wing.  
“They shall be buried in the churchyard of St Zita’s- once a Guardian, always a Guardian. Facing east.” He instructs. “Do not mark the graves.”

Suddenly the tittering ceases and the ancient reaper is deadly serious. “That Master of yours. Does he get to live before you snatch the soul right out of him again?”

“I would prefer to reimburse you in the usual manner.” Sebastian purses his lips. _The young Master’s fate is a secret I know better than to divulge to your kind._

“Very well.” The Undertaker perches himself on the coffin next to Ronald and swings his legs, reaching for his own tea. “I want the very best.”

The butler’s lips curl into a smile. “Why don’t you ask the _nosy_ birdy what happened to it when my Master awoke and saw it?”

He is gone before the reaper can voice his embarrassment. There is work to be done still.

 

-

By the time morning comes, the manor looks as though yesterday’s events never happened, and the invitations to the rescheduled wedding have been distributed; a smaller affair this time, to take place tomorrow at the manor with fewer guests- mostly family and close business partners in fact. There is no need to encourage the rumours that have already made their way around pertaining to the Earl’s mysterious disappearance.

Lady Elizabeth finds herself walking in the gardens with her parents and brother, trying to tell them what happened without actually revealing anything. It’s an exhausting task, and she retires as soon as they’ve gone, tired too from the pain medication Paula insisted she take with lunch. Thankfully, the swelling has left her hand, so she will still be able to wear her new gloves tomorrow. Before falling asleep, she smiles to herself at the thought that she's getting married like a normal lady tomorrow, even if it's to a rather extraordinary gentleman.

 

It’s dark when she awakens. Somebody is climbing into her room through the window.


	13. His Wife, Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter brings the wedding... after all that they've been through, will our young Master and Lady still want to go through with it?

The lamp beside the bed comes to life just as Lizzie’s fingers close around the knife that she keeps under the pillow.

“No need for that, it’s only me.” The intruder swings himself through the open window and lands with a flourish and a grin.

“Ronald!” She loosens her drip on the weapon but she doesn’t drop it yet. Just because the reaper has been an ally in the past, she isn’t going to let her guard down.

“Evening Princess.” He bows. His shirt is untucked and his tie loosened. “Don’t worry, I’m off duty. Purely social visit.”

Lizzie narrows her eyes. “Visitors usually come through the door.”

“Nah. Don’t fancy my chances with that demon of yours.” Ronald saunters across the room with his hands in his pockets before throwing off his jacket and sprawling onto the bed. “I’m already laughing stock in the office after your boyfriend punched me in the nose.”

“He’s in the next room you know.” The threat is only half-empty. She shoves his feet off the covers. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  
“Well, I went to see a friend nearby, and while there I learnt two things.” The reaper props himself up on one elbow. “First, you’re gettin’ married tomorrow, which means young master Phantomhive ain’t planning on running off into the night to steal souls for a while at least.”

Here he winks, and Lizzie blushes at the implication that Ciel’s nights are going to be filled with… other occupations. She quickly shakes off that thought, asking, “And the second thing?”

“And the second thing, you killed an Angel.”

Lizzie draws her knees up to her chest and hugs them, looking away.

“I know it was you.” Says Ronald quietly. “Grell probably didn’t bother to mention, but most humans can’t even touch scythe metal, let alone use it as a weapon. So you’re a pretty special little doll.”

“Good.” She mutters. “I’ll be able to protect Ciel better. I had help, but I did kill that Angel. I _can_ keep him safe.”

Earlier, Sebastian had taken her aside and informed her quietly that other demons might see a ‘half-breed’ as something that would need to be eradicated, and so the situation should be a secret. Lizzie’s response was to tell Sebastian to let them try, but that they should expect to fail.

A hand lands on her knees, and she looks over at Ronald. In the shadows of the lamplight, his face is unfamiliar with seriousness.

“Is that really all that matters to you? I know you love ‘im, so you wanna think he’s gonna be alright. And you think you can kill anyone and anythin’ that poses a threat. But the biggest threat is _him_. To you, at least.”

She’s already as good as killed herself for his sake, how can anyone think that she’s a coward who can be persuaded to give up her pledge in order to preserve herself? Ciel is not an abomination. And he is _not_ dangerous. Not while he is by her side at least.

“I don’t care.” Lizzie unfolds her limbs, pushes off the covers and stands. “I am going to marry Ciel tomorrow, and I shall be by his side until we die.”

“In which case-“ Ronald jumps up and vaults over the bed, landing by her side with one hand offered to her. “May I have this dance, my Lady?”  
His other hand fishes in his breast pocket and pulls out some kind of music box that’s obviously from the future, tossing it onto the bed as it begins to emit unfamiliar but nonetheless beautiful sound.

“I’m in my nightdress!” There are many ways Lizzie could have objected, but this is the only coherent sentence that will form.

“So?” With a cheeky grin, Ronald grabs her wrist and hip- careful to avoid the sprain- and pulls her into a spin, so wildly that she nearly collapses, but he catches her again, white leather feet executing a complicated sequence. “Copy what I’m doing.” He instructs.

Lizzie can’t help but laugh. Here she is, in her nightdress, with a sprained wrist and bare feet and loose hair, dancing exuberantly with a God of Death while her part-demon future husband sleeps on the other side of the wall. Round and round they go, elbows and shins barely avoiding the furniture, her teeth sinking into her lip to stop herself from giggling loudly every time Ronald pulls some flashy exaggerated move and gives her a cocky wink. Through the engraved wooden door, Ciel remains in slumber.

By the time the song ends, both of them are out of breath and sparkly-eyed. Ronald’s hands are at the small of her back to support her and he leans her backwards with a smirk.

It’s suddenly very quiet without the music.

Again, Lizzie finds herself looking at his face, pink-cheeked like hers, for a long moment- but up this time instead of down, and bare hands instead of weapons.   
Ronald is the first to look away. “I shouldn’t hang about. Cheers for the dance.”

He brushes two fingertips very softly along her cheekbone, whispering as he does so, “The brat better treat you right. And if you get bored, you don’t have to drink poison, you can just leave your window unlocked.”  
She swallows. She doesn’t know what to say.

Ronald sets her back onto her feet, and picks up his discarded jacket and music box. “Bye for now.” This time it’s his lips that barely touch her cheek, and then he’s gone, closing the window behind him.

 

-

When Ciel wakes, he can smell something that makes him angry- but it doesn’t last, because he soon remembers what day it is and can’t feel anything but nerves.  
Logically, there is nothing to be anxious about. All the while Sebastian is dressing him, Ciel repeats this in his head. _Enjoy the celebrations. There’s nothing to be anxious about. This is human nature._

“Are you alright Master?’ Having finished tying the ribbon around Ciel’s collar, Sebastian draws back and peers at his young lord. “Are your feet cold, as they say?”

“Not at all.” Ciel shakes off the last of the nerves, drawing himself up to his full height, then pulls a face as he recognizes that scent. “Why does it smell of reaper?”

“Ah.” Sebastian bows his head. “I had to form a sort of contract with Grell Sutcliffe, involving a… date… in exchange for valuable information. I invited them today, thinking that trouble would be kept to a minimum with others around.”

Ciel snorts with laughter. “You have a date? With a reaper?”

The butler’s composure remains intact while Ciel snickers for a minute at the thought of Sebastian playing escort to a ladyfriend.  
“When you are finished,” the demon clears his throat, “we shall be awaiting you downstairs. As shall your bride.” He bows and exits.

 

The ceremony isn’t particularly exciting to him, but Ciel has to admit that Lizzie looks… well, she looks lovely. Her dress is royal blue, adorned with ribbons as always yet somehow still demure. Is her face painted or something? No, he realizes, it’s just that she’s happy, and happiness lights her up the way a solitary lamp can brighten a whole room.

Whilst they dance- gingerly, for he can feel eyes upon him and doesn’t want to make a fool of himself- he lets himself consider the ‘relationship’ for perhaps the first time. It has never really mattered whether or not he sees Lizzie as more than just an acquaintance or relative, this was their destiny from the start, assassinations and demonic contracts notwithstanding. But maybe, just maybe, he is growing to see her the way a man sees a woman.

To one side, Sebastian is dancing gracefully with his swooning scarlet date, whose flamboyant sequined dress is attracting stares and whispers. On the other side, Finnian and Mey-Rin are cutting a wide berth across the flagstones as they sway together in their Sunday best.

Ciel’s gaze returns to Lizzie, and she is smiling at him still, but she looks a little tired. He feels it too.  
“Should we slip off for some quiet?” he suggests. She nods, and making sure nobody can see, he leads her by the hand upstairs.

 

When they enter the master bedroom, they find it lit softly by numerous small candles, with white roses shedding their petals onto the bed and the carpet. Ciel feels his face grow hot at the thought of Sebastian making preparations for what he assumed would occur tonight.

Lizzie is hovering uncertainly by the door. Ciel swallows the lump that’s lodged in his throat and holds out a hand. “Come.”

They sit side by side on the bed, as close as possible without actually touching.

“Do you remember what I said that night?” Ciel looks at his lap as he speaks.

“Of course,” Lizzie replies softly. “You said your world is a dark one. And I’ve seen it now.”

“There are…” he swallows again. “There are some things that you have not seen, and I am eternally grateful for that.” He forces himself to look up at her. “You know that I was kidnapped after the fire, but I never told you what happened.”

Lizzie’s lips move as though she wants to say something, but thankfully, she seems to understand that he needs to speak. This is the first time he’s said these words aloud.

“I was tortured with knives, pokers, whips. But those men did other things to my body. Things that I never described to anyone… but the last time I saw Aunt Angela before she… passed away, she sat me down and said that she’d guessed the truth.”  Ciel reaches out tentatively to rest his hand over Lizzie’s, folded in her lap before continuing.  
“She told me that when a man and a woman make love, it’s very different, pleasurable even. But I am afraid Lizzie. I am afraid that I will do something that will make you feel as hurt and filthy as I did back then.”

There. He’s said it. There is quiet for a long moment.

“Would you do something to me even after I asked you not to?” Lizzie whispers.

“I- of course not. Never.”

“Then you won’t hurt me.” Her fingers shake slightly as she reaches to untie his eyepatch, but when it falls away, she cups his face and presses the gentlest of kisses to his lips.

“Can I try that?” Ciel finds himself asking when she draws back. His wife gives a small nod, and he touches his hands to her cheeks this time, noting that her skin is soft. His mouth finds hers, and then their bodies seem to be leaning into each other, and his fingers move to her hair and down her back, and it’s alright.

It’s alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie and Ronald's relationship has a lot of potential, but I did plan this fic out to have a happy ending, so there are no love triangles or broken hearts (maybe a spin-off, hmm...)  
> Apart from challenging myself to keep a multi-chapter fic at T rating, I didn't feel comfortable writing explicit sex between Ciel and Lizzie in this context. Although 15 and 16 respectively, I feel like them going the whole way on their wedding night would be something neither of them had really consented to. Instead, I like to imagine that they share a bed and kiss each night, and slowly those kisses develop into something more, but if Ciel has bad flashbacks Lizzie will hold him until he's calm and not try to be intimate again for a while. I might concentrate this into a one-shot or something.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading this as soon as I've woken up because I woke up to three positive comments on last night's chapter and it absolutely made my day. Thank you to everyone who's been leaving feedback and encouraging me.

The morning is chilly, dew drops scattered over the lawns. Sebastian brings breakfast for two on a tray, expecting to find the newlyweds either in separate rooms or a rather indecent state; they are both in Ciel’s bed but not naked, curled tightly together. Demon sympathies don’t exactly translate into human ones, but the pair look peaceful. Indeed, it’s a shame to wake them.

Paula takes Lizzie to her own room to dress, while Sebastian tends to Ciel. His young master doesn’t seem any different from the outside, but his skin smells more strongly now of that curious affection he’s been secretly fostering for some time. Sebastian smiles knowingly to himself; the boy is slowly becoming a man. How very human.

The sun is breaking through the clouds when they leave, causing the dew drops to glisten. The humans shield their eyes against the bright white rays as they walk arm-in-arm, Sebastian following a respectful distance behind.

“So that’s it?” Ciel asks. They’ve come to a halt in an ordinary-looking churchyard.

“Indeed, my Lord. This is the church of Saint Zita.”

Ciel approaches the church and peers through one of the grilled windows. “I was expecting something a little less mundane, in order to require Angelic guardians.”

“An ordinary exterior can mask extraordinary certainties.” Sebastian smirks, his statement applying to all three of them.

Lizzie has wandered over to two freshly turned patches of earth, clearly graves, although there are no crosses or headstones. “I will ensure this church remains protected. My family have married here for generations. Some of them are even buried here.”

Sebastian bows to her. Ciel comes over and places an arm around her waist.

“Both of you know better than to lie to me.” She keeps her voice low but it carries across the otherwise empty graveyard. “Sebastian, after you consume Ciel’s soul, what happens to the demon part?”

“It will… live on.” Sebastian answers slowly, studying his pristine gloves. “But one can hardly call it a life. Weak, starving, incomplete.”

“Then it would only be decent of you to finish me off entirely.” Ciel is looking right into his butler’s eyes. “Kill the demon in me as well as the human, put me out of my misery.”

Sebastian takes a step back, turning away. “I could not, young Master. Not my own kind.”

“Leave us.” Ciel instructs. He watches Sebastian retreat, and then tightens his grip on Lizzie. “Do not worry about what happens after I die, please Lizzie. I have accepted my fate.”

Lizzie isn’t crying when she meets his gaze, her face is stoic. “After you die, I don’t want to live. So if I am alive still, then I want the demon in you to take me.”

“Are you-“ Ciel balls his hands into fists as soon as he realizes what she means. “No!”

“It’s either that or misery for both us. Have my soul, and even though you will be a soldier of Hell, it will reduce the pain of the hunger, right? Think of it of as my way of being with you forever.”

“I…” He loosens his fists, staring at the ground. He doesn’t care whether he becomes a fully fledged demon or rots in Hell. In fact, he’d much rather just be killed for good. And as for Lizzie… she deserves a normal life, a husband who can love her and grow old with her. He won’t take that chance away from her.

“You could marry again,” he whispers, “have a whole other life after me. There could… we could have had children by that time. Would you want them to lose their mother? I didn’t exactly enjoy losing mine.”

Still she doesn’t cry, although she draws away from him.

“Come.” He bends and picks one of the daisies growing in the grass, and holds it out. “Let us not think of such morbid things. For now, all is peaceful, and we can be happy.”

Lizzie accepts the flower and tucks it into her hat, then with a last look at the two unmarked graves, steps closer and takes his hand.  
“Let’s go home.” She says. “We can talk of this another time. But promise me now that you won’t let me live without you. Because I don’t want to, and you said you wouldn’t do things that I asked you not to do.”

Ciel lifts up his eyepatch so his red eye is visible as well as his blue. “Very well. I promise not to force you to live after I die. Can we go back now? It’s cold.”

She nods, and they start walking. Lizzie’s other hand- still bruised, but hidden beneath her glove- closes around the locket Grell gave her, containing the fragment of scythe. She has a feeling she’ll need it.   
Sebastian again follows at a respectful distance, as silent as observant as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.
> 
> For now...


End file.
